I see it in my mind, elegant strokes of the pen,

Yet as I let the ink flow, the beauty ceases to exist.

It has no emotion, no awareness, no care,

A dearth of life, making it another scribble in the millions.

The essence of blithe is so hard to capture.

Laboring again, starting a new,

Hoping my attempt will succeed this time.

Yet, my eyes grow wary as I see what unfolds,

And I can feel the doubt of talent rise in my heart.

It still refuses to breathe.

I close my eyes, seeing the image once again.

Studying the lines, following the curves.

So vivid it seems real,

And I fight the urge to reach out and touch it.

“One more time” my consciousness whispers.

So, picking up the pen, trying for the final time,

Hoping to unearth the love for this picture in my mind.